


even in its hard places

by Adrieunor



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, F/M, No use of y/n, Planet Sorgan (Star Wars), Post-Season/Series 02, Slice of Life, Touch-Starved Din Djarin, blink and you’ll miss it falling in love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28401936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrieunor/pseuds/Adrieunor
Summary: And one day, just like that, the Mandalorian returned and said he’d like to try farming now.-----If the Mandalorian had known so much trouble would come out if it, he would have ignored Greef Karga the moment he’d asked: “why not pick up a hobby?"Post-season 2.
Relationships: Din Djarin & Original Female Character(s), Din Djarin/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	even in its hard places

And one day, just like that, the Mandalorian returned and said he’d like to try farming now.

People in the village were happy to have him back, of course—the village would always be safer with someone like him around, nothing on Sorgan could compete with a real Madalorian—and if they were confused, they kept it to themselves in close lipped smiles, curious glances, and murmurs behind raised hands.

* * *

After a few days, something became apparent. Actually, it took less than an hour into the first day for it to be noticed, but it became _really_ noticeable by the second day, and just plain sad by the fifth day. Still, no one wanted to confront the Mandalorian—he’d done so much for them. 

…but these things always had a _but_ didn’t they?

 _But_.

Someone needed to tell him.

And by the encouraging smiles on her neighbor’s faces, she knew no one was going to do it. Not when Omera hovered and looked up at him with her dark lashes, not when Kahil was dogging the Mandalorian’s footsteps like a kid eager to carry his idol’s off casts, and certainly not when the children were so, so eager to show him the ropes.

Every village had its asshole. She just hadn’t thought, coming into the new harvest, it’d be her. 

* * *

_But_ if everyone else was going to play silly plopnars, then she’d just have to suck it up and be the skuggle. 

So she had woken up that morning, had brushed her errant bangs back from her face and looped a dark blue ribbon to tie it all back, and had marched herself to the Mandalorian’s guest-hut-turned-fortress-of-solitude with every intent of being the one krill swimming opposite the rest.

If he was surprised to see her, how would she have known? It was just a big shiny helmet that stared back at her. If he wanted to greet her, he didn’t get a chance, as the moment said shiny head poked out from the curtained entryway she had dropped the kid gloves—

“You’re bad at this.”

His helmet made a noise like a millisecond of the rainy season, fizzy and short. His shoulders lifted, a little, like he was about to say something but she quickly held her hand up, looking up at the dark visor easily heads taller than her.

“Nope,” she said, planting her feet firmly and cocking her hip. “Don’t argue. You are. It’s very clear you’re very bad at this. Very, very bad. You don’t have a farm hand’s bone in your body, and no one’s going to tell you that because everyone is really happy you’re here. Which, I get, because we wouldn’t even be here without you.”

Wow, she thought. That felt really good. If it weren’t for the fact that everyone lived in each other’s pockets and therefore were dependent on being nice to each other in the village, she might have put more thought into making a career out of just Being Honest Very Bluntly. Like some kind of truth goddess come out to yell at the masses, what she wouldn’t make in money she’d probably make in emotional satisfaction.

“Do you…want me to leave?”

Oh. Right. The Mandalorian. …Who now seemed unsure of what, exactly, to do with her standing in front of his threshold? If she was taller, she could say she was darkening up his doorstep, but she wasn’t—head barely reaching his shoulders, all it’d take was one good headbutt downwards from him and she’d be out cold.

She stared—no, she squinted and gazed into the dark abyss of the helmet, nose crinkling, as she tried to figure out whether she was making intense eye contact. This was a Very Tried and True strategy that normally worked whenever someone needed sussing out, but she’d never done it with a Mandalorian before. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

The Mandalorian was very good at staring contests.

This must not have been his first borfta ride, because he simply stayed as still as a statue regarding her, helm tipped downwards.

Finally: “What’s your problem?” She furrowed her brow. “Is this, like, some game to you? You’re literally wearing a lifetime’s worth of harvests while out here mucking up the fields with your stompy boots. Is this a really weird fantasy you’re trying out? Because you should pay us, if it is. You know: for wasting our time.” 

She heard some rich people would do that: visit poorer planets and communities just to try out the life of a commoner for a day or two. Like some kind of weird tourist attraction. (Because, sure, laboring until you were no longer useful to the people around you was so appealing?)

A beat of silence. And then the Mandalorian did a funny little head tilt, from one shoulder all the way to the other, like maybe she needed to be seen at a better angle.

“You,” he started, “are very direct.”

“Thank you.”

“…That wasn’t a compliment.”

“That’s fine,” she said, breezily, before tackling on: “Is this a midlife crisis?”

One: she wasn’t actually sure how old the Mandalorian was underneath all that armor. 

Two: that hadn’t been one of her hardball questions. 

So it was to _both_ their surprise, that it made the Mandalorian’s shoulders suddenly slump so much. His shiny shoulder pieces, which she always thought gave the impression of his shoulders being raised in constant, keen alertness, folded forwards and something about his whole body just seemed to sag a little bit more. Like there was a little bit less of him underneath all that under armor. A little less Mando and a little less man all around. 

Somehow, she, all five foot something of her, had managed to wilt the shiny chrome Mandalorian.

The Mandalorian took a very deep breath, which she could hear filtered through his helmet. She didn’t think a helmet could emote so much with so little, but she felt very much the center of his attention. Maybe he’d just been waiting for someone, anyone, to finally ask him what he’d been dying to answer.

“My name is Din,” the Mandalorian finally said, “and I’ve had a really bad week.” 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk headcanons with me on tumblr @adrieunor !


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